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Best Famous Tiptoeing Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Tiptoeing poems. This is a select list of the best famous Tiptoeing poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Tiptoeing poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of tiptoeing poems.

Search and read the best famous Tiptoeing poems, articles about Tiptoeing poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Tiptoeing poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

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Written by John Betjeman | Create an image from this poem

Death In Leamington

 She died in the upstairs bedroom
By the light of the ev'ning star
That shone through the plate glass window
From over Leamington Spa

Beside her the lonely crochet
Lay patiently and unstirred,
But the fingers that would have work'd it
Were dead as the spoken word.

And Nurse came in with the tea-things
Breast high 'mid the stands and chairs-
But Nurse was alone with her own little soul,
And the things were alone with theirs.

She bolted the big round window,
She let the blinds unroll,
She set a match to the mantle,
She covered the fire with coal.

And "Tea!" she said in a tiny voice
"Wake up! It's nearly five"
Oh! Chintzy, chintzy cheeriness,
Half dead and half alive.

Do you know that the stucco is peeling?
Do you know that the heart will stop?
From those yellow Italianate arches
Do you hear the plaster drop?

Nurse looked at the silent bedstead,
At the gray, decaying face,
As the calm of a Leamington ev'ning
Drifted into the place.

She moved the table of bottles
Away from the bed to the wall;
And tiptoeing gently over the stairs
Turned down the gas in the hall.


Written by Mark Irwin | Create an image from this poem

My Fathers Hats

 Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
 on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
 the soft crowns and imagine
I was in a forest, wind hymning
 through pines, where the musky scent
of rain clinging to damp earth was
 his scent I loved, lingering on
bands, leather, and on the inner silk
 crowns where I would smell his
hair and almost think I was being
 held, or climbing a tree, touching
the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent
 was that of clove in the godsome
air, as now, thinking of his fabulous
 sleep, I stand on this canyon floor
and watch light slowly close
 on water I can't be sure is there.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry